


Among The Roses

by Cazio



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Cazio, Death, M/M, Thorki - Freeform, Thunderfrost - Freeform, violence too i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 02:27:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1249333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cazio/pseuds/Cazio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warmer winds sifted through the trees and it smelled of lavender as Loki walked along in the garden grasses. The occasion marked one of war: sweet victory and bitter sorrow for those who had not survived.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Among The Roses

**Author's Note:**

> Please read all of the tags. 
> 
> This story flows best if you read it knowing nothing about what's coming, so if any of my tags are triggering to you in any circumstance concerning thorki, you have been warned that this fic includes them, so please don't read if that is the case. 
> 
> \------
> 
> This little oneshot's completion (I had about half of it finished already lol) was inspired by twothetwelve's fanfic contest on tumblr, but it doesn't really fit with the prompt and I'm not going to be in the contest. If you write fic, I encourage you to check it out though!
> 
> Compared to my recent works, I don't think this one is as sad, so….yes?

         The sky was blue and smooth like the polished rocks that littered the countryside streams of Asgard. Spring was bursting forth in the realm with a vengeance against winter’s harsh cold and deep snow. Warmer winds sifted through the trees and it smelled of lavender as Loki walked along in the garden grasses.

His robes were black, accented with gold jewels that glittered from his every cuff, sleeve, and collar. A black crown twisted with gold was atop his head, as a reminder of his rank and importance.  His black velvet cloak dragged along the ground behind him, hushing the wildflowers as they stretched toward their king. Green silk peeked out in elegant lines and curves from beneath the cuts of ebony in a way that accented his thin frame, but was still conservative. Nothing showed but his hands and his face. It had always been Loki’s way. He was not fond of showing his arms, especially when they could not compare to Thor’s.

The designs on the outfit were as grand as they always were on royal garb. The occasion marked one of war: sweet victory and bitter sorrow for those who had not survived. It had been different this time, of course, as Asgard had been ambushed by the enemy unexpectedly. The scouts that had been found a week prior had not given them enough time to prepare for the coming destruction. At least the fires had ended, allowing the beautiful sky not to be marred by smoke and ash. Later in the night it would be, for the funerals of many would turn the galaxies into a blurred collection of stars as the bodies of hundreds burned to meet Valhalla. Many great warriors had lost their lives foolishly defending lovers and children and allowing sentiment to dictate their choice in enemy. Loki did not want to be wearing black for them.

He avoided a rather gruesome looking piece of a ship that had landed in the gardens, leaving an ugly scar in the greenery. So much of Asgard had been destroyed, but they would rebuild. Thor had drawn up plans of the city and what it would look like in the future, as they had known even before the fight that it would take the most damage.

Two guards stood at the entrance to the private gardens, their solemn faces mirroring Loki’s own as they parted to allow him to pass through the curtain of flowered vines.

He was met with an array of colors of every kind of flower lining the walls, cheering silently for his arrival. Mounds and mounds of them were all over the ground, but Loki’s eyes were focused on what lay in the middle of the clearing.

Thor looked so peaceful. A hint of a smile rested on his lips as though he were about to laugh at any moment, as though Fandral had just retold a night of mead and maidens. But Thor’s eyes were closed and his face was still. Mjolnir was clasped in his hands and folded to his chest in the way he had held roses for Loki on more than a few occasions. His wedding ring gleamed in the sunlight and Loki lowered a black veil over his face that had been hidden in the base of his crown so that he would not disturb Thor’s spirit or upset him.

“My darling, what have you done?” Loki whispered, gently reaching out to run his fingers on the cool marble where his husband lay. He sat down and brushed a few petals from Thor’s armor that had fallen from the trees above, humming quietly to himself. He tucked a strand of blonde behind Thor’s ear and sat up straight again to look at the flowers.

“Have you seen all these flowers, my love?” Loki asked. “It is foolish. What on earth are we supposed to do with them? They’ve been cut from their roots—they will die.” But he supposed everything died. Better to serve a brief but colorful existence than to wilt unnoticed in the meadows. Loki set a hand on Thor’s chest and rubbed the grooves of his vambrace, too scared to touch his hand for fear that it might be cold.

Loki had been strong. Frigga and most of the realm spoke his name in hushed whispers because Loki had not fallen into grief over Thor’s death. He had only shown weakness once when he found Thor slumped among the enemy, eyes wide and breathing coming in short hiccups as blood flowed freely from his mouth. A sword broken and stuck in his ribcage. Loki had wailed then. He’d buried his face into Thor’s neck and sobbed when his magic did nothing to an enchanted blade. Thor had begged him not to cry as best he could and his last action had been to hold Loki’s face in his hands one last time before his breathing turned harsh, then stopped completely.

Loki wringed his hands in his lap, giving up on touching Thor’s vambrace. “I don’t want you to leave tonight,” he whispered. But Thor would be burned in a ship, leading the rest of his warriors to Valhalla where Loki knew he would never go. This was the last they would see of each other. This was the last time he would lay eyes on his husband’s flesh.

“Odin says I’m not to be trusted.” Loki laughed softly at that, allowing tears to roll down his cheeks instead of wiping them away. “They plan to exile me, though Mother is fighting it. Some say I killed you.”

He waited for an answer, a stir of anger from Thor, but there was none.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter. I could not be king without you and they will pick someone who can…provide good enough leadership.” Loki would never admit that they would find someone better than he was. It would be a fight, but whoever won would take the throne and Odin would not allow it to be bloody like in some realms.

He rolled his eyes. “Stop your worrying. I can live on my own, I’m not a babe.” Thor would be furious if he knew Loki was to be exiled to the wilderness. Would be. Would be. His husband was dead. The only way to speak about him was to speak in past tense. Thor was gone. The mighty prince had fallen with a blade in his heart into a pile of slop after a foolish battle.

Loki reached out a hand once more and placed two fingers onto Thor’s forehead. He felt out with his magic and hoped to feel something…but there was nothing at all. Even if he had somehow been able to pinpoint Thor’s being somewhere inside, he feared bringing it out to show him what Thor was thinking after death. Thor could just as easily have been poisoned into a berserker who would do everything to kill him even though he could not longer touch Loki. Worse, Thor would want to hold him and make love one last time, which would not be possible either.

He ran his thumb across Thor’s forehead, as smooth and cold as if it were carved granite.

“Thor,” Loki whispered, shaking his head. The tears were streaming steadily now. “Darling, come back.”

He had never spoken to someone who had died before. He had always thought it foolish when widows spoke quietly to their spouses who could never hear them. Now he realized that it was not for the one who died, but for themselves. Foolish still, but he understood. Not everything had to be practical or logical.

He placed his hand on top of Thor’s, flinching at the chill. Thor’s hands had always been so warm. Calloused from fighting but gentle on his skin as they shaped his hips, his face, his chest. Loki longed for one more night in bed with his husband, one more nice where his pale skin cold meld with Thor’s gold.  Their last night together had been spent with Loki stitching up wounds with magic, massaging and being massaged and finally falling asleep curled tightly to one another as they awaited the next wave of battle that would surely come with morning’s light. If only he had known it would be their last. Things would have been different then.

“They’ve cleaned you up well,” Loki noted, thumbing Thor’s chin where blood had been dried in a thick paste just a day ago. “You look like my Thor now. And that smile of yours will make all of the women of the palace swoon tonight when you go to meet our ancestors. Well, yours.” Thor wouldn’t want him to say that. Thor always made sure he knew he was not an outcast—that he was family. When Loki had changed to his Jotun form during a fight just to prove that Thor did not truly love him as he said he would, Thor’s face turned from a scowl to a look of awe before gathering him in his arms. His flesh had burned and turned blue like Loki’s from Jotun frostbite, but all he has said was _‘now we are both blue, my love.’_

It wasn’t fair that someone as good as Thor had died first.

Loki gave a shaky sigh and returned his touch to Thor’s hand.  “How am I supposed to live without you?” he asked softly. “How am I supposed to wake each morning and not have you at my side?” The gods despised him, he knew. But they had loved Thor and granted him countless things. Loki had always been the one passed over. Once they married however, Thor’s good fortune had faded. They could have no child. Asgard hated Loki’s heritage almost enough to hate Thor for marrying him. Odin thought it disgusting that they loved each other at all, and the Warrior’s Three had distanced themselves from Thor until he began to call Sif ‘Lady Sif’ again. Thor never spoke about it, but Loki had seen the pain in his heart. However, Thor had never blamed Loki, though it was clearly his fault.

Thor did not sit up to comfort him, nor did he take his hand to say that it would be all right. Loki knew it would not be all right ever again—without Thor, no one would protect him. Of course, Loki had also vehemently despised anyone thinking him weak—and he wasn’t—but Thor had protected him from more than Loki would ever realize, he knew.

“I love you,” he whispered, leaning over to drape himself over Thor’s chest. He folded his arms beneath his chin and stared at Thor’s still-perfect jaw, but it was strange. Ah, yes, there was no longer the rise and fall of Thor’s chest as he breathed that Loki was so used to. His Thor was gone, he knew.

He rested there for a long while, the veil dimming his view of Thor, but that was for the best. This memory ought to be a blurred one. Loki only wished he had been wearing such a thing when Thor’s newly-lifeless body had collapsed against him. Or when his hands had been so covered in his husband’s blood that he’d squeezed clots of it from his wrists in the bath and the water had started to become the very consistency of what he was trying to wash off.

His gaze went to the flowers as they danced in the wind, then to the sunlight filtering through the leaves. Many times he and Thor had eaten meals in these gardens. Many times they had also made love among the grasses and kissed until the stars took up the sky. He closed his eyes and turned his head to rest his cheek on Thor’s cold armor.

When Thor said nothing after a long while, Loki sat up. He touched Thor’s hands accidently and recoiled immediately, still expecting them to be warm, not icy. Loki instead stuffed his hands beneath the veil and wiped the moisture from his eyes and cheeks, straightening in his seat with a little sniff. “Well,” he said. “I best be going.  There is much to do before this evening, thanks to—“ A little sob left his lips. “Thanks to you, darling.” He rubbed Thor’s thigh and wished he hadn’t. So cold. So lifeless.

A stronger wind blew through the garden as Loki stood. He gripped tightly to his veil, then lifted it up above his lips to lean down for a kiss.

Thor tasted like death.

Loki pulled away only after brushing their noses together once, then dropped the veil to cover his mouth again. “Goodbye, my thunderer. Goodbye, my sweet Thor.” He caressed Thor’s cheek with the backs of his fingers then turned swiftly away, taking determined steps toward the entrance to the garden.

 

Thankfully, it wasn’t until Loki was in the safe and quiet of their chambers before he began his wailing.


End file.
